


Dicks And Doodles

by abovetheserpentine



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, i mean it's heavily implied, idek just read it it's cute i guess, sort of? i'm not sure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 13:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1511492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheserpentine/pseuds/abovetheserpentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What is that?”</p><p>Steve raises his eyebrows in question, still scratching his belly, and absently pushing his stupid indie glasses up the bridge of his nose. His hair is adorably mussed and Bucky <em>does not notice</em>.</p><p>“It’s a dick on my forehead, Bucky. Every Saturday, I swear –”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dicks And Doodles

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this post](http://fratboybucky.tumblr.com/post/83619012912) on tumblr. i blame shreya.

Bucky likes to draw.

That is to say, he likes to draw _on Steve_. He’s not particularly good, that’s not the point.

The _point_ is that Steve looks like an idiot. Which Bucky loves.

“This is gonna be so great.” He mutters to himself. The pounding of the bass drowns out any eavesdroppers, anyway. It’s sort of a moot point – it’s not like Steve is talking. If he were, he’d have distracted Bucky by now and there would be no actual drawing taking place.

The Sharpie glides smoothly over Steve’s forehead, and Bucky suppresses a snicker. No matter how many times he does this, no matter how many Sunday mornings Steve wakes up to a masterpiece on his face, it never stops being funny.

“Hey, Barnes!”

The boisterous yell causes his hand to jar and the clean line he was in the middle of drawing to veer off course. Bucky muffles a curse, and tries to repair any damage. How Steve is still passed out is beyond him, but Bucky isn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth tonight.

He flaps his left hand behind him energetically, trying to silence the calls.

“Barnes, beer pong this way!”

He completes the circle he was drawing near Steve’s right eyebrow and, after a moment’s pause to assess his work, gives a satisfied grin.

“You boys sure you wanna lose your money so fast?” Bucky drawls, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder to the couch and the still passed out Steve behind him. Beer pong calls but Bucky likes to keep an eye on his artwork, so he’s managed to place himself within line of sight of his best friend.

If Bucky looks over every now and then, that’s nobody’s business but his. Steve looks like a moron, and it makes Bucky chuckle every time he glimpses the fat, black lines on the artist’s forehead. Seems like _Bucky_ is the real artist. Take that, Rogers.

He sees a few partygoers, some more intoxicated than others, take a look at Steve and giggle or chuckle to themselves. It’s pretty rote, Bucky admits, for Steve to look so dumb with his hipster glasses and a great big dick across his forehead, but it still gets a laugh out of most. The party is still in full-swing despite the late hour, and so Bucky decides one childish drawing is not enough.

After managing to win beer pong (although, as Bucky’s nearly trips over his own feet in his drunkenness, he’s not sure he truly won), he whips out the Sharpie for one more doodle.

“What to do, what to do…” Bucky muses, tapping the end of the marker on his chin thoughtfully. His gaze flitters over broad but hunched shoulders, down Steve’s left tattoo sleeve to rest on his colourful forearm. He stops.

“Not so artistic this time.” Bucky quips, and grabs Steve’s right arm as his blank canvas.

 

~

 

“You know, you’d think you’d get tired of this eventually.” Steve says as he walks into the kitchen. Bucky is finishing up their scrambled eggs. Steve could never resist the smell of cooking food in the morning.

He turns, a witty rejoinder on his smiling lips, but stops short.

He frowns.

“What is that?”

Steve raises his eyebrows in question, still scratching his belly, and absently pushing his stupid indie glasses up the bridge of his nose. His hair is adorably mussed and Bucky _does not notice_.

“It’s a dick on my forehead, Bucky. Every Saturday, I swear –”

“No, not that.” Bucky snaps, and Steve looks taken aback for a moment before narrowing his eyes.

“Oh, you mean ‘Property of Bucky Barnes’? You’re an idiot, Buck.”

“No, pal. _That_.” And Bucky points to the offending marks on Steve’s stomach.

Stupidly, ( _God, he’s so stupid,_ Bucky thinks fondly. No – scratch that – thinks with _exasperation_ ) Steve tries to look behind him. Knowing his friend is hopeless, Bucky abandons their eggs at the stove and stalks over.

He pushes up Steve’s tee to reveal an arrow pointing down to… _there_. And the words–

“ _I’m with stupid._ ” Bucky says, voice like ice.

“I’m not with anyone.” Steve says, perplexed. His messy hair matches his lost expression.

Bucky’s hand tightens around his spatula.

He’s angry, so angry. _Why_ is he angry? It’s like any other moronic thing he’s written or drawn on Steve. It doesn’t even make _sense_ , so _why is he angry?_

“Who did this?” Bucky asks, although it doesn’t sound like a question to even his ears. 

“How would _I_ know? I was passed out. Sheesh, Buck.” Steve pushes away Bucky’s frozen hands, narrowly avoiding a wild spatula, and checks on the eggs. Which might be burnt. Bucky doesn’t care.

Bucky glares at the ground before he turns, calmly placing the kitchen tool on the counter. He’s on the way to his own room as he dials his cell. It picks up after the first ring.

“Barnes, I am not in the mood.” Natasha drawls. Bucky can hear a male voice in the background, and guesses why.

“Who the _fuck_ drew on Steve last night?” Bucky spits out, rummaging through his desk drawers for his desired implement.

“Isn’t that your job?” She counters, bored. The male voice mutters something, and Natasha heaves a great sigh. “Clint says it was Stark.”

She hangs up, and he manages to strike lucky in his search for his infamous Sharpie.

“Where are you going?” Steve asks as Bucky strides purposefully across the main area. The kitchen is an open space, and he glimpses Steve’s bare feet and curious expression before he yanks open the door. The hallway is empty.

“To find Stark,” Bucky answers brusquely, just loud enough for Steve to hear. To himself, though, Bucky snarls quietly.

“Nobody draws on Rogers but _me_.”

Their apartment door slams behind him.

“But… the eggs?” Steve calls out, confused. There’s silence but for the _ding_ as the toast pops up. 

“Oh, well, more for me, I guess.” He concludes, and hums the rather irritatingly catchy pop song from the night previous, plating up his food.

 _Don’t do anything stupid_ , Steve texts as he finishes up the last mouthful of his large breakfast.

 _Too late_ , is the reply a few minutes later.


End file.
